After Jeanne released Wukong and threatened him by saying she would report his actions in Heaven,
they left the abbey.
They did not need to discuss the continuation of the operation any further; after all, they had been together for centuries and already knew how to exploit each other's talents.
They immediately teleported to where SCP-469 was located in Canada.
The night was thick.
Snow dominated the landscape.
Jeanne walked at the front, dark coat flowing, eyes fixed straight ahead.
Behind her, the team re-formed almost instinctively, each one resuming their role, as if time had never existed between yesterday and today.
They reached a rocky ridge overlooking a vast forested plain.
Far away, very far away, something was moving.
Slowly.
Too slowly.
Jeanne raised her fist.
Everyone stopped.
— There.
They observed.
Even at that distance, SCP-469 was impossible to mistake for anything else.
A titanic mass, distorting the horizon.
More than six hundred meters tall, its wings folded like those of a patient predator.
But they wondered where 001 had gone. After all, he represented the greatest threat. They hoped he had decided to leave and no longer assist 469, but they had doubts.
Jeanne narrowed her eyes.
— He's moving too slowly. During his fight with the Virtues, he reached speeds higher than a Virtue already moving at twice the speed of light. Why move so slowly now?
Hercules nodded immediately.
— Yes. Knowing that he feeds on sound, it makes no sense that he isn't rushing toward the cities.
Anansi crouched down, observing the trajectory.
— Yet, he is heading toward them.
Ayris:
— It seems that 001 might be involved.
They could not deny it. SCP-469 was acting far too inconsistently. That could only come from 001.
….
Meanwhile, Michael stood motionless, wings deployed, armor marked with luminous cracks.
Behind him, thousands of angels, arranged in impossible formations, waited.
Gabriel was at his side.
She had removed her helmet.
Her eyes were fixed on the invisible.
— …She is still resisting, she murmured.
Before them:
the strange barrier of SCP-001.
Michael had decided to abandon teleportation or portal methods, as they would lead nowhere. No—he had decided to attack the problem directly: the barrier itself. But every time they thought they had broken through, another appeared with stupid phrases like:
"This scene does not belong to you."
"You are not necessary to the narrative."
They were growing increasingly irritated by the situation, but it was not without hope. Every time they broke the barrier, they could advance one kilometer closer to Earth before another appeared. Even if it sounded just as pointless, at least there was hope.
But Michael and Gabriel were still worried, because the Foundation's hologram had stopped after 469 defeated all the Virtues stationed on Earth. It was possible that he was already wreaking havoc on Earth. They prayed to God that this was not the case.
But as they continued their breaking-and-advancing methods,
the Foundation's hologram reappeared, followed by the chat.
Everyone could see SCP-469, but also the Nephilim.
Chat — Open
Satan:
His size has increased, hasn't it.
Asmodeus:
Yes. At a glance… five hundred. Maybe six hundred meters.
And it's not just an impression. His mass is denser than before.
Lucifer:
His way of moving is abnormally slow.
Given the previous events, there's no need to debate:
this comes from 001.
A short silence passed through the chat. Clearly, they all agreed.
Alastor:
Then I would be delighted to know how our dear angel friends plan to deal with 469.
Zestial:
In this situation, with their hands tied, they can only rely on the intervention of the Foundation, which… by the way, shouldn't it already be present?
Carmilla:
Now that you mention it—looks at the clock—the Foundation's intervention time has passed. Why aren't they here?
Angel:
Fuck, this SCP-001 is really an asshole.
Sir Pentious:
Uh… may I propose a hypothesis… sssss?
Charlie:
What is it, Pentious?
Pentious:
Well, the Foundation seems to focus solely on capturing anomalies to protect its own world, right?
Vox:
What is an idiot like you trying to say? If it's just to state the obvious, shut up.
Alastor:
For an asshole, you sure talk a lot, Vox. At least he took the initiative to speak, so shut it.
Vox:
growls
Pentious was nervous. He feared his analysis would not please the others, but just as he was about to back down—
Lucifer:
Even if you are a sinner, you are my daughter's friend. I'm sure what you have to say is interesting.
Satan:
I agree. Any hypothesis regarding the Foundation's actions is worth considering.
That calmed him. After all, the two rulers of Hell had given him the chance to speak, which gave him confidence.
Pentious:
Well, if the Foundation's primary goal is to protect its world from anomalies, why wouldn't it send them to another world so they don't destroy its own? Either it can't, or it doesn't want to—because another world with entities that powerful could threaten them. Now, if it can't do that and is forced to coexist with its anomalies, and those anomalies are invading another world, and it's their duty to contain them… why would they exhaust themselves?
Lucifer:
Could you elaborate?
Pentious:
I mean, imagine I have a child who causes trouble at home. One day, he goes to the neighbors', and suddenly I have peace. In that situation, he's my child—I can't just give him to the neighbors forever, so I'll have to take him back. But will I take him back when he's full of energy, or when he's tired and asleep?
Charlie:
So you're trying to say that—
Pentious:
Why would the Foundation exhaust itself and incur losses among its personnel to capture an anomaly at its peak strength, instead of waiting for it to be properly "calmed" by us, its neighbors?
That statement sent a chill through everyone.
Some wondered if it was true. They began questioning whether the Foundation always arrived exactly at its stated intervention times. For example, SCP-173—they arrived on time. But in that case, wouldn't it have been easier for the Foundation to calm and contain it? It would have been nothing more than a troublesome child. But SCP-076… some realized they couldn't remember clearly—did the fight between Adam and him really last the thirty minutes stated? And why did the Foundation only appear once 076 had been defeated by Adam?
Zestial:
All of this is quite troubling.
Angel:
Troubling my ass—this is downright creepy. The Foundation doesn't give a damn about us. All they want is to recover anomalies without suffering any losses.
Vaggie:
I didn't understand why they offered abilities to those who helped contain anomalies, but now I do.
Sera:
So they only intervene once the anomaly is already, in some way, under control, but…
Gabriel:
What will they do if we can't "calm" the anomaly?
Entire chat:
…
As the chat fell silent, the Foundation's hologram finally showed another image. Besides 469, eight individuals could be seen walking briskly toward him.
Charlie:
Everyone stared.
Satan:
Those are humans—what the hell are they doing there?
Sera:
Michael, didn't you say the Virtues ensured that all human life had been evacuated?
Sera received no answer.
Husk:
Seems even angels are incompetent.
Lute:
How dare you, filthy vermin.
( Lute is currently at Adam's side, who is recovering from his injuries in Heaven )
Hamiel:
sigh Out of consideration for my little niece, I won't take it personally—but know this: if you ever again trivialize the death of all the Virtues who fell in battle, what I do next will lead to my fall. Is that understood?
Husk:
…OK. I take it back.
Michael:
Is it them? But yes—it's them.
Gabriel:
Are you sure? They've been on Earth for centuries.
Sera:
Who?
Michael:
The Nephilim squad.
Sera:
…
Charlie:
The squad of what?
Alastor:
Yes, I'd also like to know what a Nephilim is.
Lucifer:
Well, my little Charlie, you know your mother was human, right?
Charlie:
Uh, yes… what's the point?
Lucifer:
Well, if your mother had given birth to you while she was still human, and I was a full angel, you would have been a Nephilim.
Vaggie:
So Nephilim are human–angel hybrids?
Part of the chat (those unfamiliar with past events):
Wow.
Vox:
Our good king sure fucked around in his free time.
Lucifer:
What?
Angel:
So if I'm counting right, there are eight Nephilim on screen, but maybe there are more—does that mean Charlie has several brothers and sisters?
Lucifer:
WHAT!?
Alastor:
But nothing proves those children are the union of the little king and Lilith—don't tell me—
Charlie:
Dad… did you cheat?
Asmodeus and Beelzebub (playing along):
Ah! Lucifer, how could you do this to Lilith? She who was faithful to you!
Satan (playing along):
You should be ashamed of yourself.
Leviathan, Mammon, and Belphegor struggled to hold back laughter.
Lucifer:
You bastards know perfectly well the Nephilim aren't my children. Stop putting ideas into my daughter's head.
The six other Deadly Sins:
HAHAHAHAHA!
Charlie:
Uh… if the Nephilim aren't your children, then that means—
Husk:
Oh yeah, angels—so that's how you are, huh?
Emily:
I wasn't aware of this.
(Viviane stated that Emily is 100 years old, so she's too young for that era.)
Seraphim:
It's a long story, but what matters is this: even if the Nephilim squad is present, they are in no way a threat to 469. He managed to defeat a squad of Virtues. The strength of each Nephilim down there is comparable only to that of an intermediate-ranking Principality. In short, they have no chance. Michael, you must contact them. They are outmatched—we have already suffered enough losses.
Michael was in a dilemma. He didn't know what to do: let the Nephilim occupy 469 until they reached Earth, or warn them and pray to God that 469 would continue moving slowly until they intercepted him.
Michael:
Sera, I think we can trust them.
Sera:
Michael, you can't do that. They're in danger. You can't place your hopes on them.
Michael:
I know, Sera… but… they're the only ones who can hold 469. There's no guarantee that 001 will let him continue moving this slowly… If… if the situation worsens, I'll order them to retreat.
Sera:
…
….
Jeanne and the group had no idea what was being said about them. Apparently, the Foundation's hologram and chat did not appear where they were.
As they continued observing 469 from a distance, Jeanne raised her arm.
Jeanne:
— Anansi, it's your turn.
Anansi smiled faintly. He already knew what Jeanne intended.
He placed one hand on the ground.
Then another.
A large magical circle formed beneath him, expanding and merging into the snowy ground.
The earth vibrated.
Trees began to grow.
Their trunks thickened, roots digging deeper underground. New trees formed, reaching over 1,300 meters.
A colossal vegetal labyrinth, dense enough to break SCP-469's direct line of sight despite his immense size.
But that wasn't all. Anansi used his power again and generated a fog.
It wrapped around the trunks, slipped between the branches, swallowed the light.
Jeanne nodded.
— Perfect.
Hercules observed the scene.
— Even at that size… he won't see anything. But he can still destroy the trees—we must act quickly.
Wukong:
— I guess it's my turn.
Levian:
— I'd say so. Go—don't waste time.
Wukong:
— Honestly, what would you do without me?
The others?
— We'd be more sane.
Wukong laughed at the joke and got to work.
He struck the ground with his staff.
Then he duplicated himself.
Again.
And again.
Silhouettes emerged around them, identical, perfectly synchronized.
Ten.
Fifty.
A hundred.
Three hundred.
Jeanne:
— The goal is just to hold him until the Foundation or Michael arrives. That's why this is the best method.
Wukong sent his clones.
They leapt through the titanic forest, using the trunks as footholds, disappearing into the fog, reappearing to strike 469. Some clones were hit, but Wukong had ensured they were equipped with magical mines: when a clone was struck, it generated anti-song runes on both sides of 469. This was their way of creating an anti-sound zone.
One might wonder why they didn't do what the Virtues did—create a barrier and implant the concept of non-song—but their level was not comparable to that of the Virtues. They could only rely on this crude method.
Wukong's clones possessed 50% of his strength, so they could inflict significant damage on 469. And thanks to them, they confirmed one thing: when a clone wielding a staff without anti-song runes attacked 469's wings, the wings reformed or took no damage at all. But when a clone with a runed weapon attacked, the plumes vanished. Thus, 469's plumes were the physical materialization of the song he consumed.
The titanic forest trembled.
At first, it was almost imperceptible.
A shiver in the fog.
Ayris:
— Is it just me, or… is 469 doing something?
Ayris had felt something was wrong since their arrival. They could roughly see the movements of 469 and the clones, but she noticed he seemed to be shaking.
Sigurd:
— Now that you mention it… he does seem to be trembling.
Wukong:
— No… it looks like he's shaking himself.
From SCP-469's mass, something detached.
A plume.
Then another.
Hundreds.
They fell slowly into Anansi's fog. But before touching the ground, they deformed—
into white humanoid creatures.
Wukong ordered his clones to target these creatures, and they too had the wisdom to clone themselves further.
At one point, the Nephilim all looked up almost simultaneously.
The first clone burst out of the fog like a black arrow, slamming into the ground a few meters from them, triggering a sonic shockwave.
— CONTACT! one of them shouted.
Sigurd reacted instantly, drawing the sword Gram and cutting the creature in two.
The clone disintegrated—but exploded in a compressed scream.
Sigurd was violently thrown back by the shockwave. Ayris caught him and healed his damaged eardrums.
Hercules:
— That bastard—he's using our method against us.
More clones arrived.
Again.
Again.
But over the course of the fight, the group realized something: they weren't attacking to kill. No—these were fucking sacrificial sonic bombs.
When they managed to avoid falling into one of the clones' traps and all of them were destroyed,
469's wings deployed… then twisted.
The plumes fused together, stretching and condensing into something monstrous.
A titanic blade.
Forge-wings, several kilometers long, vibrating with song condensed to catastrophic levels.
And then—
He vanished.
He didn't teleport—he moved, in a brutal distortion, as if space itself had been torn.
On the Nephilim's battlefield, the sky split.
A gigantic shadow swept across the horizon.
— ABOVE—!
Too late.
SCP-469's wing-weapon came down.
The speed was insane.
Kilometers in a fraction of a second.
The ground exploded.
The forest was erased across dozens of kilometers.
The condensed song pulverized the air itself.
As the snow lifted by the explosion dissipated,
Jeanne thought it was over—but then she looked up and was horrified by what she saw.
Jeanne:
— Anansi!!
Hercules:
— Wukong!!!
Anansi had taken the form of a spider and used his body to intercept the shockwave. He also generated a web to prevent the others from being thrown away—but that alone wouldn't have been enough.
Wukong was on his back, his staff having grown to nearly the same size as 469's blade, blocking it. Both of them were bleeding heavily.
In space, Michael closed his eyes for a fraction of a second.
Then he roared.
A wave of light fractured another layer of the narrative barrier.
"You are not meant for this scene."
— SHUT UP.
He struck again.
— Gabriel!
— I'm here!
They broke another layer.
Another 67 kilometers.
Again.
But below…
time was running out.
Snow fell slowly, as if the world hesitated to understand what had just happened.
The ground still smoked.
The forest no longer existed—only a scar remained: a desert of pulverized trunks, torn roots, ice vitrified by condensed song.
Anansi staggered, still in spider form, golden blood flowing from cracks in his exoskeleton.
Wukong slid off his back and collapsed, his staff returning to normal size with a dull sound.
— Stay back, Jeanne ordered.
She teleported them as far from the combat zone as possible. She regretted not doing more, but the situation wouldn't allow them to heal their injuries quickly or effectively.
Anansi wove a protective web around the two of them, isolating their presence and cutting off as much residual song as possible so that 469 wouldn't detect them.
Wukong:
— I've always hated your webs—they're sticky as hell—ahah… fuck, that hurts.
Anansi:
— Shut up and regain your strength… and thanks. If you hadn't decided to counter cough 469's weapon cough, I would have—
Wukong:
— You should shut up too and rest. And don't worry—after all, we're friends.
Anansi (smiling):
— Yeah… we're friends.
Meanwhile, on the battlefield—
SCP-469 was already straightening up.
His forge-wings slowly reassembled, the plumes rejoining, each vibration filling the air with unbearable pressure.
Jeanne:
— We can't rely on the Foundation or Michael anymore. We must destroy 469 using our anti-song weapons. Don't give him any respite—attack simultaneously!
Hercules acted instantly.
He slammed his fist into the ground. The earth shook, and behind him something emerged.
A projection.
A gigantic silhouette made of golden light and raw matter, perfectly replicating Hercules' form—but immense, hundreds of meters tall.
Hercules roared:
— I'LL TAKE THE FRONT!
The projection charged SCP-469.
The first impact was cataclysmic.
A fist of light struck one of 469's masses of plumes, sending a shockwave visible to the horizon.
SCP-469 retaliated.
A plume-sword came down on the projection.
The blade pierced the luminous shoulder.
This time, Hercules screamed.
His real arm twisted at an impossible angle, massive fractures and wounds appearing.
— HERCULES! Ayris cried.
— KEEP GOING! he roared. I'M HOLDING!
The projection grabbed the blade, forced it to stay locked, and the two colossi exchanged titanic blows, each impact reducing the landscape to dust and shattered light.
Ayris closed her eyes.
Then opened her arms wide.
An ancient circle appeared beneath her feet, engraved with angelic symbols.
A dragon emerged from the clouds—immense, covered in opalescent scales, its wings beating the air with archaic power. Its throat glowed.
She and Mulan mounted its back, and it took flight.
The dragon's breath split the atmosphere and struck SCP-469 head-on. The plumes it hit disintegrated, but even that wasn't enough—there were simply too many.
But that wasn't a problem.
Sigurd drew Gram.
The sword vibrated, recognizing the moment.
— Jeanne, with me.
Hercules positioned himself so they could climb him.
The projection froze for an instant and extended a massive arm.
Jeanne and Sigurd leapt.
They ran along the arm of light, using fractures as footholds, climbing a colossus in the midst of battle.
Below, Levian raised his hands.
Blades of wind formed around him— invisible yet screaming—cutting through the air at supersonic speeds.
— Long-range cover! he announced.
The blades struck SCP-469, slicing plumes and forcing the anomaly to divert part of its attention.
They tried to reach 469—specifically the humanoid form at the core of all those plumes.
But 469 was not stupid.
He deployed a large number of clones that besieged Hercules' projection to reach Sigurd and Jeanne.
They managed to defeat and evade the kamikaze explosions, but Hercules took them head-on, making him stagger and nearly causing Sigurd to fall—saved only by Jeanne.
In the sky, Mulan used one of her abilities: spatial cut.
With this attack, she ignores distance. All she has to do is perform a sword strike; what matters most is that the enemy is within the trajectory of the swing. If the enemy changes position in time, the attack will simply strike the ground where the enemy was.
She traced an arc with her blade, aiming at one of the places where she thought 469's body was—but when she hit, she realized it was only another layer of plumes.
— Is he fucking with me or what?
Even though they destroyed a huge number of plumes, the noise generated by the battle—even attenuated by their anti-song weapons—meant that 469 always had more plumes at his disposal, and he fully intended to exploit them.
469's wings fragmented into dozens of distinct structures, each folding and twisting into different forms.
A vast number of gigantic plume-weapons.
All of it oscillated, emitting a constant song.
Hercules growled. He knew he would have to take it.
He warned Jeanne and Sigurd—already occupied with the clones—that they should both get down. Which they did.
After that, 469 put distance between himself and the projection and vanished.
Hercules:
— Fuck, not again.
He crossed the distance to Hercules' projection in a fraction of a fraction of a second.
One of his many weapons slammed down on the projection, which managed to block it. The shock was titanic.
But immediately, a second plume-weapon struck from another angle.
Then a third.
Then a fourth.
Hercules was completely pinned down.
Each plume impact vibrated at a different frequency, saturating the space around the projection.
The light fragmented.
The projection cracked.
— GNNN—!
Hercules felt his real body respond.
His bones cracked.
His muscles tore.
— I'M HOLDING! he roared nonetheless.
But SCP-469 did not insist.
He left the projection.
And struck behind it.
A humanoid clone made entirely of white plumes surged forward at full speed.
Then another.
Then ten.
Then fifty.
But this time, they did not explode. 469 had deployed them to fight, equipping them with plume weapons.
Sigurd raised Gram.
A clone struck from behind, but Jeanne managed to parry in time.
Clones came from all sides—they were surrounded.
469 struck the projection again.
But this time, SCP-469 used sonic pressure.
The song detonated on impact.
The projection shattered.
Hercules was hurled to the ground, carving out a massive crater.
He did not rise.
— HERCULES! Jeanne screamed.
In the sky, the dragon attempted another attack.
SCP-469 raised a wing.
The plumes detached and formed a mobile wall, vibrating at high frequency.
The dragon's breath struck.
It was deflected, dispersed, absorbed by the vibrations.
Mulan clenched her teeth.
— Then take this!
She struck again.
Again.
Each cut destroyed entire layers of plumes.
But SCP-469 moved before she could reach his body.
Then he decided to end it.
All the clones ceased attacking.
They gathered, adding themselves to his already gigantic mass of plumes.
The song rose—a continuous pressure.
The air began to vibrate.
The ground cracked.
The dragon was seized by violent spasms and crashed.
The Nephilim fell to their knees one after another.
Their anti-song protections shattered.
Jeanne felt blood running from her ears.
Jeanne:
— Retreat!
As she was about to use her power to teleport them,
469 struck where she stood with his plumes, violently hurling her backward.
Mulan:
— Jeanne!!!
In the end, they were all on the ground—unable to rise, exhausted. 469 only had to use them as sound generators by making them suffer within his wings.
But just as he was about to grab Hercules—the closest one—his plumes were destroyed by a staff.
Jeanne raised her eyes.
— Wukong, Anansi—what are you doing here? I told you to stay back.
Wukong:
— How could we keep sleeping?
Anansi:
— While our friends are risking their lives?
Jeanne:
— …
— It's my fault. All of this is my fault. If I hadn't decided to come here, none of this would have ended like this. cries
Sigurd:
— What are you talking about?!
Sigurd stood up and helped Mulan to her feet.
Mulan:
— If there's a culprit here—
Levian:
— It's all of us!!
Anansi helped Levian up.
Anansi:
— We came of our own free will. You never forced us.
Jeanne:
— And the promise I made you swear?
Wukong:
— Oh come on, do you really think that stupid promise is what pushed us to come? I remind you—we're not children. You didn't force any of us.
Wukong helped Ayris to her feet.
Ayris:
— Honestly, Jeanne, you know us better than that. If we're here, it's because not only are we a team—we're also friends. A family.
Hercules stood up.
Hercules:
— So stop crying and let's fight again, even if it means dying here.
Hercules extended his hand to Jeanne.
Jeanne:
— Thank you… thank you so much…
And Jeanne took Hercules' hand and stood up.
469, visibly irritated by the situation, decided to form another plume-weapon—but—
Wukong, Hercules, Anansi, Sigurd, Mulan, and Levian used their remaining strength to restrain 469. They generated an incalculable number of chains to bind him. Anansi followed up with spider webs. Wukong's clones overwhelmed him. Part of Hercules' projection wrapped its arms around 469.
Jeanne held her sword in both hands and used her final trump card.
"I make the vow of—"
This ability allowed her to sacrifice to God something that belonged to her—such as speech, touch, or sight—in exchange for a massive increase in power. The only backlash was that she would fall into a vegetative state for several years. But that didn't matter.
She decided to make the vow of something she hoped would give her significant power against 469.
SHE MADE THE VOW OF HERSELF.
"MAY THE LORD GRANT ME STRENGTH THROUGH THIS SACRIFICE."
At that instant, Jeanne lost everything—her five senses, her thoughts, all of it. She was neither alive nor dead. She existed, and yet did not exist.
And in that strange state, she felt as though she heard something.
— JEANNE!!!
— JEANNE!!!
— JEANNE!!!
— JEANNE!!!
— JEANEE!!!
— JEANNE!!!
— JEANNE!!!
— DO IT!!!!!!!!
Jeanne's weapon in reality completely changed. The anti-song runes were still visible, but the weapon had reached a height of six kilometers.
She struck vertically, directly at 469.
He looked in a direction—at something invisible.
It was 001.
469 visibly asked him for help, but did not receive the answer he expected.
"These are the protagonists of this scene. I cannot intervene."
The weapon struck the atmosphere with a deafening whistle, projecting waves of heat and wind across a radius of hundreds of kilometers.
Space itself seemed to bend under its mass. The clouds were instantly dispersed, as if gravity itself bowed before the power of the attack.
Snow, forest, even the surrounding mountains were swept away by a blast that warped reality.
SCP-469 raised his plume-blades, attempting to counter the assault, but they were destroyed instantly.
The blade struck 469.
The impact created a crater of destruction ten kilometers in diameter, melted snow turning to vapor, molten magma erupting outward.
The ground shook so violently that mountains collapsed.